The Therapist
by Alextheleo
Summary: Rhiannon Gallagher is the luckiest therapist in Mystic Falls when she takes on Elena Gilbert as a patient. With secrets of her own, she’s eager to help the struggling, secretive girl after her parents’ deaths. When an entire supernatural pariah soon follows, her office not only fills, but she becomes more involved. What could possibly go wrong? (Will go M at some point)
1. One

***Rhiannon Gallagher's face claim is Angelina Jolie circa. Mr. and Mrs. Smith***

———

"Though no one can make a brand new start, anyone can start from now and make a brand new ending."

—Marcus Aurelius 

———

_**Chapter One**_

_Elena Gilbert _

_4:25 PM, Monday _

_September 7th, 2009_

———

"Thanks, Doc!" Sharon Dyer calls out with a wave as she heads out to her car.

Smiling as I wave the bipolar maturing woman out, I quickly close my front office door and speedily prepare for Elena Gilbert.

As one of the town's two therapists, I made it a regular practice to be up-to-date on the news in town. Sad as it is, if I know about tragedies ahead of time, I can narrow down who my clientele will be. And that's exactly how it was the morning of May 24th, when it was announced on the news that Miranda and Grayson had passed away. I knew that eventually today would come, and I had already set up my grief packages for each of the main remaining Gilbert family members.

At the start, I thought that Jenna would be the first to reach out, but she hasn't spoken to me since the funeral. I think she's scared that I'll analyze and judge her, but that couldn't be less true.

I can see that their family is hurting, and I want to help.

Which is why, on the day of the funeral, I gave them each a complimentary hour of therapy as my condolences. I'll admit, I lost hope after two months passed, but it seemed from her call that Elena was determined to turn things around, and she wanted my help to do it.

Smiling, I tuck in the paperwork I had Elena turn in yesterday with permission from her guardian, and Jenna's in-person visit would solidify her as my new on-going patient as long as she liked me today. The first impression _is _huge. Primly placing my pen and pad next to my computer, I do a quick glance of my office to make sure that everything looks tasteful and professional.

Decorated artfully for the last two years since I've moved here, my office is my sanctuary, and the one place I've always preferred being in. It was a well-lit, pastel pink room with large windows, decorated sporadically with white furniture and an assortment of flowers and plants growing in pots. Soft pop flowing peacefully through the air kept the area upbeat while not overwhelming the room, quietly allowing me to mouth along to my favorite 80s songs as I filled out my schedule. The A/C was something I always fought hard on keeping fixed year round since telling the truth tends to make people sweaty, so it always felt like a soothing breeze came through the office; the effect was a space that was more open and more welcoming to genuine interactions with their situations.

Hopefully, Elena will agree.

Taking a deep breath, I move back and sit on the exercise ball at my desk. Yes, it's an exercise ball; yes, it's fun to bounce in while I type in my notes for the day; and yes, it was to make sure I didn't get fat while sitting on my duff at my desk ten hours a day. It was almost time for Jenna and Elena to arrive, so I took a sip of my coffee from my thermos and waited patiently and pleasantly for my new patient.

Hearing a ring at the front door bell, I hear my secretary, a lovely young girl named Dana, greet someone and assist them with signing in. Standing as I hear multiple footsteps approach, I smile brightly as Sommers and Gilbert walk into my office.

"Hey, guys! I'm so glad you could make it," I greet warmly, reaching out and giving Jenna a handshake instead of a hug because her stiff posture indicates she's nervous around me. She shakes my hand back firmly, but her blue eyes are dodgy at best.

_Okay, so, maybe she has a valid reason to be scared that I'm gonna shrink her._

Turning to Elena, I see that she's just as stiff, smile in a tight line— part of me would wonder if she's voluntarily coming, if she hadn't seemed so sure when she turned in the paperwork yesterday.

_Maybe it's Jenna? Does Elena feel like she can't tell her aunt anything?_

"Hey, Elena," I warmly greet, and she gives me a sweet, genuine smile in return.

"Hi, Ms. Gallagher," she replies, glancing at Jenna briefly before awkwardly setting her lips in a thin smile.

_That's important._

Turning back to face Jenna, I set my hand on the hip of my slacks with a polite smile. "Alright, Jenna. Me and Elena are gonna have some girl talk. See you in an hour?"

She nods curtly with the same tight smile on her face, promptly turning off with a "bye, Elena!" and a wave over her shoulder. I arch a brow at Elena and she just shrugs with a laugh and a sheepish grin, walking herself right into my office.

_Okay, so, she's eager to get started— she wants to make a big change._

Walking myself into my office, I close my door and go sit on my exercise ball at my desk. Elena lands on one of the two large, sky-blue bean bags on the opposite side of the office, smiling brightly. I know the silly look on her face.

Smiling as I glance up at her from my notepad, I squint at her suspiciously.

"I know that face. Did you _meet_ someone, Elena?" I whisper scandalously with a playful smile. She rolls her big brown eyes at my teasing.

"Oh, _whatever,_" she sighs dreamily, laying back her head against the back of the beanbag and ignoring the question. _We'll definitely have to get to that at some point._

Anything that makes a girl _that_ happy so soon after her parents' death and her very own near-death experience was something that was important enough to discuss here. Grabbing my reading glasses from the top of my desk, I put them on and roll myself over to the beanbags across from Elena, so both me and Elena are looking at each other with no obstructions.

Crossing my legs and setting my pad and pen in my lap, I smile up at Elena. "Alright, so, I know you already know me from my talks at your school, but I want to establish it again for professionalism's sake.

"My name is Rhiannon Gallagher, and you get to call me Rhiannon. I'm a therapist. What this means is that I'm here to help you improve your life, boost your knowledge so you can better discern what you're feeling and why you're feeling that way, and help you cope with challenges you face— past or future.

"You get to tell me about your problems, and I will give you unbiased direction to come to your own conclusions. Basically, _you _alreadyhave all of the answers to your problems that you have control over; I'm just here to help guide you to them. On the other hand, I'm also here for when you're struggling in a situation you have no power over, and you need an empathetic ear to listen to you. Now, we need to talk about the not-so-fun part," I finish off my first speech resolutely, looking up at Elena seriously, and she sits up in the beanbag to actively listen to me.

"Do you want to know who I am at the core of my being, Elena?" I ask with a brow arch, challenging her to be curious about me.

She takes the bait, dark chocolate eyes narrowing curiously at me. _She likes a good mystery._

"Who?" Elena asks, brushing a strand of her straight brown hair out of her pretty face.

"I'm a _digger_, Elena," I emphasize with a raise of my brows, "Once we get started, I'm going to be digging through _everything _that has ever happened to you to get to the core of the problems that you're having. I'm going to be dragging up negative memories, but the only way I can help you is if I know everything. Jenna won't hear about anything unless you tell me you're going to harm yourself or someone else, so I need us to have the most honest relationship possible.

"I'm not your conscience, I'm not going to tell you whether I think what you're doing is good or bad. My job is to help you make your _own _decisions. So, I'd like you to promise me that you'll be honest during our visitations, so that my time is benefiting you."

She nods, brown eyes serious as she glances at the ground before looking back up at me earnestly.

"I...," she pauses, and I see that Elena's getting slightly emotional over whatever she's about to say. "I am so _tired_ of people pitying me. I know that it's a lot to ask from everyone, but I would've felt a lot better if they had just assumed I was okay."

_Dislikes pity, _I write down underneath Elena Gilbert's name on my pad, glancing up at her with an understanding look.

"I get it. I don't love people feeling bad for me either. But, it's important to remember that for most people, that's the most effective way for them to display their empathy for your situation. It's important to see what role they're playing in this situation; the bystanders of a tragedy. A lot of people are awkward and don't know what to do in situations like this, or even what _they_ would do in this situation, so their recognition of your sadness converts to a sort of selfish pity accidentally. It's not their fault; they're empathizing as much as they can, they just can't relate to this type of loss," I explain, jotting down that Elena's face seemed open to listening to my advice, her body language relaxed.

She nods thoughtfully, biting her lip as one of her hands rubs her brown leather jacket-coated arm as if she's comforting herself. _Did she feel alone after her parents passed away?_

"I hadn't really thought about that, but I guess that makes sense. I just wish everything and everyone would go back to normal."

Humming, I lean forwards on my bean bag with a smile. "Is that what's so special about this _special_ someone? They don't pity you? They treat you normal?"

Flushing pink, Elena Gilbert giggles nervously, and it's obvious just how much she likes this person.

"There's.. this _guy_ that I met today," she groans with a smile, flustered. "He's new in town, and absolutely _gorgeous._"

Tapping the end of my pen on my pouty pink lips, I smile at her twitterpated face as I reply, "Ooh, '_gorgeous_', you say? Any other qualifications?"

Rolling her eyes, Elena folds her hands together, elbows on her knees as she scoffs at me. "Not _'qualifications', _god. So.. basically, I was visiting my parents' graves today and I was sitting at their headstones, writing in my journal— by the way, I've started keeping a journal as my latest self-help move, don't ask to see it— and this super creepy fog rolled in and there was this crow that wouldn't leave me alone. I waved the bird away but, then it started squawking and it was super ominous in the graveyard with the fog and all that, so I ran," she starts off.

Jotting down the major points of her story, I nod up at her once I've caught up, for her to continue.

"So," Elena continues starting to get invested in the story she's telling me, gesturing with her hands to explain the situation further, "I'm running, my paranoia thinking for some reason that the stupid bird is chasing me, and I trip over this rock in the path through the forest-y part of the graveyard. I'm freaking out, thinking, 'oh, _god, _bird attack!' But then, there's no bird. I turn around and it's the new cute guy at school. _Stefan Salvatore. _But, it's stupid, I'm being overdramatic because I'm stressed._"_

I raise my gaze to hers when my brain connects the name to the town. "Is he Zach's kid or something?" I ask curiously, wondering if I should surprise my woods neighbor with a welcome basket for the newcomer. Elena's large brown eyes narrowing on me suspiciously, and I move to fix my misstep in joking with her first before I dived in.

"Wait, before you get upset, I'm not asking _really _for my personal gain. Zach is my neighbor, so I didn't know if I should bring something by for the new kid. To reiterate, I _legally _cannot inform other people of our meetings, what we talk about, or that you're even my patient. If I ever did, you could sue me within an inch of my life and I'd lose my licensing," I explain further, wanting her to know she can trust me. Looking up at her as I finish jotting down another note on her behavior, I give her a wry grin.

"And as for this boy, _Stefan,_" I shoot a wink her way, smirking further when Elena blushes at the boy's name, "If you think you can do so in a healthy way right now, I'd say that's all the more reason to try to see where your feelings lead, or, at the very least, this is a great way to learn how to acknowledge and accept your feelings for what they are— just your feelings. Just how you feel at the moment, it's always fluid in it's shapes, and it's important to acknowledge and accept whatever state it's in whenever. It'll help you ground yourself in emergencies if you can acknowledge that you're panicking in the first place—get me?"

"Yeah," Elena sighs out reluctantly, hearing the truth in my advice and it making her uncomfortable. _Doesn't like discussing own feelings. _Well, that's a problem for our therapist-patient relationship. That's when I remember what a colleague of mine had suggested I do for patients who weren't super emotionally in tune with themselves.

Dropping my pad and pen to the floor abruptly, swiftly capturing Elena's attention, I lean a bit forwards to really get on her level while maintaining a professional distance. Blinking up at me in surprise, Elena raises a dark brow at my sudden antics.

"Here's what we're gonna do, Elena," I say pulling my dark hair from it's bun, allowing the brown strands to fall as I feel my head start to pulse from wearing the reading glasses while looking around. "Me and you are going to play a game where we alternately answer each other's questions. You get to know more about me, and I, likewise, get that same conversation. Sound good to you?"

Brows furrowing curiously at the idea of learning more about the enigma that was my life, Elena solemnly nods after a a moment of deliberation. "Can I go first?" She asks, and I quickly nod my head.

"Where did you move here from?" She asks, firing off quicker than I thought she would a the sudden prompt for questions. _Maybe she was already thinking about the questions?_

"I moved here from San Antonio about two years ago. But, if you're asking where I'm from, I grew up in a small town called Palmer Lake over in Colorado," I decide to add, wondering briefly why this was her first question.

"Who are your friends?" I ask, really focusing since I didn't want to distract from the conversation by grabbing the pad and pen that I had thrown on the ground in my hubris.

"Well, Bonnie's my best friend. Then there's Caroline, Tyler, and Matt. Well— Matt used to be one. We dated, but I broke up with him after the accident," Elena adds, and I'm glad that she's seriously matching my contributions. Brown eyes bright with interest in me, she crosses her legs as she gives me a sheepish smile.

"Not to be weird, but you're like, super pretty. What made you become a therapist instead of a model or something?"

I give her a huff and a faux pout, blushing heatedly at the compliment as I put on woe-is-me eyes, teasingly responding, "Suck up. I ended up choosing Women's Studies when I was in high school as a research subject. I knew that I had the facilities to dedicate myself to a process that helps other people move past what's blocking them from achieving their full potential. If I chose anything else, I would've felt like I took the easy way out, you know?"

She nods, body language glowing with understanding.

"Yeah, totally. Like you knew that you had more of yourself to offer and anything less would've been a waste?"

_I think we'll get along just fine, Miss Elena Gilbert, _I think with a smile, ready to continue our question game for the next hour.

———

Waving Elena and Jenna off just as the sun starts to set off in the distance, I sigh in relief when I close my front office door, turning to Dana, I shoot her a tired wink. "Busy Monday, huh?" I ask, and she nods in the affirmative, tidying up her desk for the day.

"Yeah, I had no idea how many people actually came here," she replies sweetly, and I know most other people would be suspicious when she says something like that, but trust me, she's perfectly harmless. Dana Andrews is a pure-hearted girl, and I knew better than to think she'd ever discuss what happens in the office. Reaching to grab my purse and jacket off of the coat rack behind the front door, I quickly slide them on as Dana retreats down the hall to turn off all of the lights.

Smiling tiredly at her as she returns, Dana grabs her things from her desk, meeting me by the front door with an equally sweet smile. "Ready to go?" She asks, holding the door open for me.

I nod, following her out the door as I finagle my keys from my purse. After locking up shop, we promptly go our separate ways with a 'see you tomorrow' and retreat to our cars. Sighing in relief as I walk up to my silver 2007 Toyota Camry, I quickly press for the doors to unlock and toss my purse haphazardly inside, sliding into the front seat with a sigh. Automatically locking my doors with my muscle memory, I take a deep inhale before leaning my forehead against the steering wheel for a second.

_I'm running on fumes here._

It wasn't my fault I was so tired; lately, I had been having a recurring nightmare. It was horrific: the town of Mystic Falls slowly, but surely sinking into a tar pit, the citizens not even knowing as they go about their daily tasks until they're ensnared. Then, they scream as they melt into the mass of black, becoming part of the tar itself.

Rolling my eyes at my own existential anxiety leaking through to my dreams, I wish, not for the first time, that being a therapist meant you could be a therapist for yourself. _Maybe I should call Cindy_, I briefly ponder, _everyone needs a tuneup once in a while, maybe I just need someone to talk to._

An anxious, gnawing feeling at my stomach told me otherwise though.

Groaning tiredly, I sink my key into the ignition and crank the car on, buckling my seatbelt just as the sun sets along the coast. Pulling the car into reverse, I think on Elena Gilbert as I pull out of my office and drive out into the Mystic Falls night.

_That poor thing is struggling._

From what I could tell, not only was Elena actively ignoring her grieving process in an attempt to numb it, but she was also actively looking for someone or something else to focus on. Or at least, that's what I _think _this Stefan guy is serving as for her.

She wants a do-over, but there are no do-overs, so Elena's unconsciously choosing the second best option by drastically changing her immediate circumstances where she can. It's avoidance at it's core, but it's something we could work on.

Pulling my Toyota into the parking lot for the Grill, my stomach growls at the aroma of French fries leaking into my car from outside. _Shouldn't have skipped lunch again, _I think irritably as I grab my purse, exiting my car and locking it as I walk up to the restaurant. Walking inside, I slip my jacket off, folding it in my arms as I go to my favorite spot: the bar.

Flushing a bit at the many eyes that lock onto me as I walk through, I subconsciously rub my mouth, wondering if there's something on my face as I take my seat at the back corner of the bar. Giving the bartender my order of an Old-Fashioned and a side of green chili fries, I pull out my compact from my purse, checking my face to see if anything is on it.

"There's nothing on your face, if that's what you're wondering," a deep, _annoying _voice says from behind me, and I snap the compact mirror shut as his reflection appears.

Rolling my eyes as the bartender returns with my drink, I spin to face him on the stool, glass in hand as my eyes narrow at him. "What do you want, _Fell?"_ I ask venomously, not in the mood to talk to the prick.

"Ah," he sighs like he's surprised, sitting in the stool besides me and flagging the bartender down. "Good to see nothing's changed between the Fells and Hawthornes, Rhiannon."

The last name always sends chills up my spine, uncomfortable memories of my childhood bubbling under the surface— a place I definitely don't want to return to. Glaring at him as I rotate back to face the bar, swirling my drink before taking a sip of the strong beverage.

"Good thing I'm not a Hawthorne anymore, then, isn't it? I can just hate you for your personality like everyone else," I snip, eyes visually devouring the chili fries that the bartender is carrying our way.

"Oh, come on, Rhiannon," he sighs, downing the shot of tequila that the bartender brings him before continuing, "You know the Council doesn't care what your parents said. Whether you like it or not, you're a Mystic Falls native at the end of the day, and the last member of your Founding family. Besides, wasn't the divorce finalized last year?"

My grip on my glass tightens as my eyes narrow further at him from the corner of my eye. "Yes, but in case you weren't around, I didn't have any other family or last name left," I retort, downing the rest of my drink in an attempt to stifle the anger I feel at him mentioning Adam. "If this was your way of trying to get me to help out the Council, don't let the door hit your ass on the way out."

Folding his hands and leaning forwards to really eye me down, my irritation grows when I see him obviously check me out with no shame.

Snapping back to the matter at hand, his blue eyes pierce mine, "This is my way of inviting you to _join _the Council. We need as many families as possible nowadays, Rhiannon. You _know _that."

I did.

The problem was, I didn't care.

Glaring fiercely at him, I stand and slap a twenty on the bar, swiping the container of chili fries as I throw my jacket back on.

"You all got me to move back, I'll give you credit for that," I say, zipping up my jacket as I turn to face the exit with a completely ruined appetite.

Glancing back at him momentarily, I hope he sees the blunt honesty in my face when I say, "As it stands, I would rather _die_ than help any of you."


	2. Two

"And now that you don't have to be perfect, you can be good."

—John Steinbeck 

———

_**Chapter Two**_

_6:30 AM, September 12th, 2009_

_Home_

———

_Rhiannon._

Yelling in fear as I sit up, I clutch my necklace tightly as my breath comes out in terrified gasps. Heart pounding loudly, I barely register the sound of my alarm droning on the radio about another 'animal attack', finally turning it off after a few moments once I catch my breath.

That dream had been exceptionally horrifying.

I could still see flashes of the horrible image every time my eyes closed. Running my hands through my now-sweaty brown hair, I take a deep breath in through my nose and out through my mouth as I mentally process the image. Basically, the nightmare had been of a child being gruesomely devoured by a group of monsters. _Vampires._

As my heart rate finally starts to slow, I wipe my sweaty forehead with the back of my hand, spotting a crack of the early dawn sky through my blinds. Glancing over at the alarm clock again now that I'm fully awake, I see that I've woken thirty minutes before my alarm and groan.

If the stupid scary dream is going to wake me up early, can't it at least give me an hour so I can get a little sleep in before work?

Rolling out of my fussed-up bedsheets, I realize that in my sleep, I've tossed my comforter off my queen-size mattress when I trip over said blanket, landing firmly on my ass. Letting out another groan and a slight disbelieving chuckle at how my morning is already going, I sit up in my pajama shorts, tiredly rubbing my eyes with a yawn as I walk into my bathroom.

Blearily reaching into my standing shower, I crank the water as hot as possible, eager to wash off the last night's sweaty fit with my loofah and tea tree body wash.

Climbing in proves to be an excellent decision, because almost immediately, the last night is erased once the hot water hits my back. I do a little victory dance at the quick conquering of my not-so-fabulous early morning.

Let's hope the rest of today goes a bit better.

———

Lunch

12:05PM, September 12th, 2009

———

_Okay, so, the rest of the day hasn't gotten better._

Sighing into the freshly-opened tuna salad sandwich in my hands, I jolt in surprise when someone knocks on the frame of my open office door, dropping said sandwich.

After a gasp of disappointed shock as my perfectly good sandwich hits the shag carpet, I narrow my eyes at the male figure standing at the door to my office. Dressed in all black, tall, and sexy as hell, I'm very confused as to why this mid-20s Abercrombie and Fitch model is in my office, and if he is a walk-in, what possible problems could the guy coated in Varvatos have?

_Well, actually, the bigger question is more so 'what problems did this guy's obvious ego create for him?'_

Smirking darkly at me from my doorframe, he's very obviously checking me out with that cold, blue gaze as I bend down slightly in my exercise ball to grab the sandwich and toss it directly into the trash. Raising my brow at the attractive, shaggy, black-haired man, my hands fold on my desk professionally and I smile politely at the stranger.

"Did Dana check you in already?" I ask, nonplussed as I eagerly reach for my notepad, wanting already to sort through what I could see was a very, in-need-of-my-help brain.

His smirk drops momentarily, showing me that he wasn't expecting that answer. What answer was he expecting? Rolling my exercise ball around my desk, I grab one of the spare blank sign-up pamphlets from the basket by the beanbags, gesturing for him to come and take a seat in front of me.

Clearly a bit put off by my reaction, he scoffs.

"You want me to sit on a _beanbag? _What are we? _Four?" _The dark, handsome stranger sarcastically asks, clearly still trying to lay on the charm thick for me.

"Yup, it was my birthday yesterday," I nonchalantly rapid-fire back, not having time for his deflection techniques since I only had an hour of my lunch left before Mr. Grundy would be in for his appointment. Fixing him with a look, I glance between him and the beanbag before raising my eyes at how childish he's being.

_Childish. Uses sarcasm to deflect. Clearly isn't here for help._

But, that's what he was going to get, because Rhiannon Gallagher was nothing if not a stubborn digger into the human psyche.

"Are you going to take a seat? My lunch break ends soon, and I'd hate for this to be a waste of both of our times," I inform him with an arch of my brows. His fierce blue eyes framed by those thick, dark lashes glow a bit brighter at the prodding.

His lips finally retreating into a semi-reserved smile, I can tell just how angry he is at being bossed around by me, for _any_ reason.

_Doesn't respect authority. Easy to anger._

The handsome stranger lands in an effortless huff on the beanbag opposite me, and I hand him the packet of entry paper as well as my pen. His gaze takes on a lustful tone when I lean forward to explain some of the paperwork, so I lean back as soon as I hand them to him, crossing my black-slack covered legs while maintaining balance on the exercise ball. Once you have one of these for long enough, your core strength is like iron.

I feel his eyes staring hard at me as I reached over to grab a new pen for myself, and I can't tell whether it's curiously or hungrily.

_Slightly predatory behavior. (in the psychotic way, not the other one)_

I continue to jot down on my notepad, blinking when I realize that there's no name at the top of the yellowed paper.

"What's your name, stranger?" I ask primly as I slide on my reading glasses that had been hanging on the collar of my white button-up shirt.

His blue eyes are intrigued by me now, glancing from me to my notepad. "What's that for?" He asks, suspicious of what I'm doing.

_Was he not aware that I'm a therapist?_

Interesting. Then, why was he here?

I decided I didn't really care whether he knew or not, it was obvious he needed one. _What a strike of divine intervention._

Smiling up at him, he blinks a bit at me like he didn't know my face could do that when I glance back up at him through my reading glasses. Grey eyes clashing with his blue, I decide then and there to act like I haven't noticed that he's after something else. He would be much more open to communication without getting suspicious.

I would just continue to be the oblivious young woman he wasn't expecting.

"The packet you have there is to confirm your introduction into my therapy sessions. This, here in my hand, is going to be all about you. In fact, it'll be my 'Guidebook to the Stranger in My Office.' Quirks I notice, notes to help me prepare for your next visit, etc. Problem is, it doesn't have a name at the top. Yours?" I ask again.

The stranger's eyes narrow defensively, but his posture stays relaxed, almost as if accepting my digging begrudgingly because he was curious where it'd lead.

"Damon Salvatore," he introduces with an eye roll, irritated with himself for falling for my baiting. Was he a relative of Zach's as well? The loner was having a full-on family reunion down at that boardinghouse.

_Self-aware._

Smiling warmly up at him as a reward, he proceeds to lean closer to me, getting very into my personal space as he moves closer, nearly a foot or two away from me, and my smile drops. _Intimidation tactic? Or is he just not used to someone telling him what to do?_ Basically, it was obvious that if I gave an inch as his therapist he would swipe the next 10 miles and a gas station.

Firmly looking him in the eye without being distracted by his closeness, I have to admire this Damon Salvatore. I don't know what is exactly the point of this assault on my personal bubble, but I know what the description for the symptom is. "Damon, I've been a therapist for 6 years now. It takes more than that to make me uncomfortable."

His blue eyes flash at the challenge. Smirking playfully but in an almost feral way, Damon Salvatore flirts, "I'd _love_ to see just how much it takes to make you uncomfortable, _Doctor."_

_Disregard for the feelings of others. Narcissistic. Uses sexuality as a weapon when defensive._

Taking off my glasses so he knows I'm serious, I look him deeply in the eye as I push him back into the beanbag with one finger on his firm chest. "No such luck, Chuckles," I say as he pouts childishly at me from the beanbag.

"I'm your therapist," I emphasize with a wave of my pen, "I'm not your friends-with-benefits or your emotional-support booty call. If you're looking for that type of patient-therapist relationship, I recommend you go to Mrs. Worthington's office, downtown. She's settling evenly into her forties, so I'm sure her mid-life crisis is more than ready to take on a young man of your stature."

Yes, she's married, but I doubt she'll care.

What? I hate her.

Okay, maybe '_hate_' was a strong word, but I really didn't like her business practices. She is in the Council's pocket, so any information of interest that her patients give her is automatically up for grabs amongst the elite of Mystic Falls. I don't like disrespecting my clientele like that, but Damon could put up with her if he wasn't here to put in actual work.

Damon didn't seem to be taking the hint though, smug smile on his face as he leans back against the beanbag, "Have you actually _seen_ yourself, Doc? I'd be an idiot to go anywhere else."

_Liar,_ that's not why you're here.

Flushing again at the compliment to my appearance, as per usual, Damon chuckles in what he thinks is his victory, leaning forward and placing his large, cool hand on my knee. Promptly smacking it off, I look at the now-irritated Damon with indifference, not caring that he wasn't getting what he wanted.

_Used to getting what he wants. Manipulative. Intelligent. Impulsive._

I can't help but feel a bit frustrated that he wasn't just following along the 'ignorant therapist who is well-intentioned, but clearly blind' idea. We were already ten minutes in, and I had barely even started digging.

"Damon, if you're not here for therapy, why are you here?" I finally ask, standing from my exercise ball and putting my notepad and pen back on my desk, my back facing him as I also put my reading glasses back in their place. This had turned out to be a complete tease of a riveting mind to help, and I once again cursed whoever decided to make today a bad day. Not to mention, the guy had killed my tuna sandwich; a double revelation that made my stomach roll emptily.

"Well, I might not be here for therapy, but I _do_ need your help," he sighs, the Salvatore's voice sounding as tired as I felt. Feeling hands suddenly on my shoulders, I gasp as I'm spun around into Damon, his eyes fierce on mine. I see his pupils fluctuate violently, and instead of being angry, I immediately get concerned that something is wrong with him.

His focus doesn't waver, still piercing my gray eyes with his blue, before saying resolutely, "Don't scream, don't panic. You're going to give me everything you have on Elena Gilbert."

_Oh._

_Dangerous. Aggressive._

Was that supposed to be convincing?

Reaching my hand back on my desk as he continues to hungrily look me over, I make sure my face is a blank mask as I find my perfume bottle and promptly raise it up, spraying the vervain-drenched alcohol into his face.

Damon gasps in pain at the sudden burning, grabbing at his eyes as he releases me and lands blindly back onto his respective beanbag. I sigh, not wanting to have had to do this to the guy, but you know, can't trust every vampire running around. Glancing down at his painfully obvious, and somewhat-tacky daylight ring, I roll my ball back to the other side of my desk, taking a seat.

Clearly getting on his level wasn't working, he didn't respect me as an equal.

And that's fine, you shouldn't force respect. It's just going to be a bit problematic for his treatment, so we had plenty to work on. Grabbing the small silver key from around my neck, I unlock the bottom left-hand drawer of my desk, promptly grabbing the Glock inside and turning off the safety as I poke my head into the hallway.

"Hey, Dana?" I call out, and I see her sweet brunette head pop out from around the corner with a raised brow, not even aware that I had someone in my office. "Would you mind calling the rest of my appointments today and clearing them out? I'm feeling under the weather."

"Yes, Ms. Gallagher!" She calls back, blissfully unaware. He probably compelled her, too. "Do you want me to wait for you to lock up?"

Shaking my head as Damon finally starts getting his bearings again, I smile warmly at the girl.

"Oh, no. Don't worry about me and head on out. Be safe out there, Dana!" I close the door after I finish telling her to leave, instead pointing the Glock loaded with wooden bullets at Damon Salvatore's chest.

He glares fiercely at me, skin still burning around his eyes, and I genuinely feel bad for having to do that to get him to respect my boundaries. We both walk around each other cautiously until my back is leaned up against my wall so he can't flash behind me.

"Listen, Damon," I say firmly, the gun feeling almost like a part of myself from how much I've used it. "I don't want to hurt you, but you need to not hurt me, too. There's no need for this to escalate. I'm not going to report you to the Council. Believe it or not, I'm more inclined to not tell them that you're here."

Damon scoffs, gaze bitter and cold, "_Sure_, Dr. Phil."

"I'm serious," I reply steadily, knowing that if he moves aggressively in any way a wooden bullet is going through his heart. Pulling out my wallet from my jeans, I pull out a photo, shooting arm not wavering. "My ex-husband," — I walk closer to him with the gun still aimed, giving him the photo respectfully as he snatches it from my hand, angrily scanning the old wedding photo, "—he was a vampire, too. Split up mutually, and he's still a good friend of mine. I have nothing against your kind."

His gaze narrows in suspicion briefly, but I see his eyebrows raise in slight surprise when he sees Adam's gaudy daylight ring on his finger. "_Huh_," he says, not to anyone in particular, "Would you look at that."

Crystalline eyes raise back to meet mine, disbelief etched on his face in an almost-funny expression.

"He didn't turn a smoke show like you?" Damon glances down at Adam's still smile before his eyes snap back and forth between me and the still-image before squinting at the photo like my ex had lost his mind, "That guy is an _idiot."_

Face heating up from the compliment at yet another inopportune moment, I roll my eyes at Damon's commentary. After a moment of checking his gaze to see if I think he's still going to kill me, I really just want to put my tiring arm down.

"Damon, if you're going to keep trying to kill me I need to know now so I don't get my hopes up about putting my a down anytime soon," I say nonchalantly, violently contrasting to the dangerous situation i was insinuating.

_He's testing me. But why? And what are the repercussions for passing and failing?_

I never have to find out, I guess, because as Damon's face heals itself in front of me miraculously, he shrugs as if he never intended to harm me in the first place.

"_Fine_. I'll keep you alive.. for now," he adds, wicked smile letting me know that he 100% means it. "If you tell me all about Elena Gilbert."

Immediately, I mimic the sound of a buzzer going off for a wrong answer on a game show, and he rolls his eyes back at me, clearly getting frustrated by how off-the-rails his spy mission has gone paired with how difficult I'm being.

_Impatient. Impetuous._

"Wrong-o, Damon," I say with a cock of my hip against the wall, placing the gun back on the table to prove a point as Damon arches a dark brow at me curiously.

"You're a grown man, and a vampire. If I thought you were stupid enough not to know how the law works, I'd explain further, but I actually _can't_ tell you anything any of my patients tell me. In fact, I can't even confirm or deny whether Elena Gilbert is even my patient. No offense to you, but I did over six years of schooling and two years of internships to get this job, Salvatore. I'd rather have my throat ripped out with those pretty white teeth of yours than lose my license."

Damon looks, if not slightly shocked, a bit amused, and the second a wry grin cracks across his handsome face, I know I've passed whatever test this was.

"You're crazy," he announces, finally reaching his own conclusions on my character. "But, you're an entertaining little human, so I'll let you live."

He pauses, eyes taking on a murderous glint before continuing, "_If_, however, I hear a whisper of a word of you going to the Council, you'll _wish_ I killed you today."

Blinking at the threat, I nod as Damon walks back up to me, trapping me up against the wall yet again. He's trying to make me nervous again, so I do some mental grounding techniques to try and keep my heartbeat steady.

Damon's looking for a reaction to his antics. He leans even closer, to where if I leaned forward even slightly, we'd be brushing noses. Damon is a very handsome man, stark jawline, bad attitude, and all, but I know that he's just trying to push my buttons and scare me.

_Pushes people who try to get close away. Sociopathic tendencies. Emotionally sporadic. Selfish. Places humans firmly in the 'pet' category._

Damon comes ever closer, brushing his lips against my cheek before pulling back to see my unamused face. Chuckling at my reaction like I'm an amusing toy to him, he pinches the cheek he's just pecked with a mock-scowl, before smirking down darkly at me. "Ta ta for now, _Rhiannon_."

Then, he vanishes, leaving me in my office, alone, with a ruined tuna fish sandwich and a blush firmly claiming my cheeks.

_That's going to be a difficult case,_ I think with a sigh as I drop down to the floor, heart pounding at my near-death experience. Taking a few moments to myself, I straighten my blouse and pants as I stand back up, starting to tidy up my office now that my appointments were canceled for the day. I had needed a day off, anyways.

Now, the real question was, what was a vampire doing around the teenage Elena Gilbert, and why did he want to know more about her? Obviously, he's someone from Zach's brood, god knows when; but, why was he back in Mystic Falls in the first place? He knows about the Council, he knows this place isn't safe, so why is a

Did this mean that the Stefan that she told me about is also a vampire?

Groaning at the overwhelming amount of questions rattling in my brain, I glance down and see Damon's packet of information. Grabbing it to toss the blank pages back onto the basket of papers, I freeze when I see that he's filled out the form in it's entirety, me flipping the pages to ensure so and seeing that on the very last page, he had left something rather interesting in the next appointment section:

—

_I, the patient, wish to continue my visitations with Gallagher Therapy Center. The next date that works best for me is:_

Next Appt. Date: September 22, 2009

Signature: Damon Salvatore

**919-399-2507**

— **See you soon**

**x,**

**D.S.**

—

_What a **douche**_, I think with a grin as I place the packet in an empty folder, grabbing a sharpie to pen in my latest patient's name on the label.

—————

**Thanks for all the likes and comments guys, this is super exciting since this is my first fanfic. Also, thanks for the read in general, you're valued and appreciated.**

—————


	3. Three

"There are no beautiful surfaces, without a terrible depth."

— Friedrich Nietzsche

———

**Chapter Three**

_8:02 A.M., September 24th, 2009_

_The Office_

———  


"—So, then I _had_ to kill the stupid coach. But, now I have blood all over my second favorite Varvatos shirt, the other having this lovely little hole in it from Stefan stabbing me with a freakin' letter opener," Damon finishes aggressively, shaking his head as he sits on my blue beanbag.

All I can do is blink.

"Damon," I finally say after a moment, setting my still-warm frog coffee mug onto my desk and briefly pausing, really trying to think about how I'm going to phrase this nicely.

Or at least try to.

"Not... to sound like I'm not invested in what you're telling me— because, I am," I say earnestly, leaning forward on my desk as I fold my hands together and gaze at the vampire compassionately, "But why in the blue fuck are you in my office?"

—

I had walked in at 7:30 AM with a large stack of notebooks in a cardboard box and my morning coffee, prepping for my 10:00. I had been very excited about the progress I was making with my early morning patient, and it felt like the last six months of digging up and helping her deal with her trauma has finally made a breakthrough.

The sweethearted 13 year old girl had severe PTSD from a car accident when she was 6. This led to her behaving as the perfect child for her father and new step mother up until she hit puberty. The dramatic fluctuation of hormones, as well as explosive fights with her step mother during her preteens all wound up landing the plucky young lady in my beanbag.

As an exercise in vulnerability, she has decided to show me something personal to her to show that she trusts me. The result was said food journals on my desk documenting her two year battle with bulimia. Tara was tougher than most of the adults that sat on my beanbag, so this was an almost explosive breakthrough in her treatment. I was taking care to pay close attention to the fluctuations in her diet. When her pitfalls tended to be throughout the year, what her triggers in her life were in correlation with her bulimia, etc., when suddenly my door bursts open.

Muscle memory snaps my hand under my desk, grabbing the small dagger in my lap cubby and hurling it at the door with a harsh flick of my wrist and a narrow of my eyes. It lodges firmly in the wood of the frame with a thud, making the intruder raise a dark brow at it as he pauses at the door frame. Damon shoots me an incredulous look, looking like a picturesque bad boy on the cover of a shitty romance novel, leather jacket and all.

"You missed," he greets, grabbing the knife between two of his fingers before accidentally grazing the edge of the blade, making him 'ow' before holding it with renewed suspicion. Raising the dagger to where I can clearly see the vervain oil I rubbed along the edges, Damon scowls at me.

"Vervain? _Really?"_

Still confused as to why the vampire was in my office after so long from his last visit nearly two weeks ago, I shrug sheepishly at the accusation, taking a sip from my purple frog coffee mug.

"I didn't miss. It's just supposed to distract you long enough for me to identify who the hell is in my office this early. _Then, _after I double-check, I aim for you," I reply after a long pause of savoring the strong coffee's flavor. Setting my mug down, I raise a brow at him, rolling up the cuffs of my white button-up just in case things got rowdy.

"Also," I continue as Damon nonchalantly tosses the dagger back on my desk, plopping gracefully into my left blue beanbag, "What do you mean, '_Vervain? Really?'"_ I ask sassily, pushing the cardboard box of journals underneath my desk with my leg. "There are vampires in town. I like my neck the way it is."

Damon cocks a charming dark brow, wicked smirk firmly in place as he not-so-subtly lets his blue gaze wander the parts of my body that are visible from the top of the desk.

"Well, so do I. But, a couple of bites and bruises here and there would really bring out how slender and delicious it looks."

"I can't tell if you're flirting with me or threatening me," I quip, grabbing the dagger and sliding it back in my cubby, grimacing slightly when I spot the leftover vervain residue on my desk that was destined to ruin my documents at some point if I didn't clean it now.

I roll my ball to the back corner of my large, oak desk, promptly grabbing the wipes and rolling back to my spot in front of Damon as he watches on, amused. Like he's watching a puppy play through a pet store window.

"Well, that all depends on your response to my request," he quips right back, making me shoot him an intrigued look.

Thankfully, Damon is prompt.

"I heard from a little birdie that you're a Founding family member. I knew a Hawthorne back in the day. She was a mean old bat," he nonchalantly adds, making me stiffen.

Of course he had looked into me.

Damon had no respect for anyone else's emotional boundaries, and he had severe trust issues. I couldn't really tell if this was just him with his switch off, or if this somewhat rude figure was just who he was as a person; but, either way, he had been snooping about me, and I should've expected as much.

I had just assumed that Damon had forgotten about the little nobody human therapist he met when he didn't return after a while. I didn't expect him to actually come back, especially since Elena hadn't made it in for any of our rescheduled appointments since her introductory one, always having reasons for not coming. I was honestly worried about her, especially with Damon being Damon, and not to mention all the people going missing and dying lately.

I had been debating whether or not to tell Jenna so that she could protect those vulnerable kids.

But, I had no evidence that Damon had been the vampire doing the killings.

Yes, he was a dick, but that didn't make him the murderer; for all I knew, it could be Stefan. Accusing the wrong person would have worse ramifications than just a few people going missing.

Also, I didn't attempt to track Damon after the fact for the sake of self-preservation, and I was starting to feel a bit bad about it. I mean, my training as a Hawthorne obviously dampened my ability to feel bad for people who die, but I did feel a small ounce of pity for the innocents caught in the middle.

And then, there was the part of me that was sick of saving people. The part that didn't care if the whole world went up in flames. The part that never wanted to help anyone ever again.

My hazel eyes narrow fiercely at him, and I'm completely ready to pull back out my dagger and finish the job, but instead, I pause. I take a deep breath, realizing that this was his very mature way of trying to get under my skin since he couldn't last time. Damon was stubborn, and it probably bothered him that he hadn't really ruffled me. An insult to his ego.

"What does this have to do with anything?" I ask, trying not to be snippy at the reminder of my heritage; but, it edges out slightly, making Damon smirk victoriously at seeing me wobble. I glance down, arching my brow at the small patch of pale skin I see through his shirt. "And also, you have a big hole in your shirt."

Rolling his distracting blue eyes, he lifts the shirt up slightly, poking to fingers through it and wiggling them at me patronizingly.

"Way to use your eyes, Doc," he sarcastically responds, straightening out his shirt and revealing a shred of his abdomen. _Wow. _I have to really focus on my breathing to not make my heart rate spike.

Sighing after a moment at my prying look, the vampire shrugs, "My delightful baby brother stabbed me with a letter opener."

My face twists in curiousity, brows deeply furrowing as I blink at what he's just said. "Stefan? Why did he stab you with a letter opener?"

Damon scoffs, licking his pretty lips and letting out a harsh laugh. "Well, that's a long story."

_So, Stefan is his brother. That's confirmation on his vampire status._

"I have some time," I say with a lean forward, eagerly waiting for him to tell me anything that will help me dig further into his head and help. His icy blue eyes narrow at me suspiciously, turning the idea over in his brain.

_Now that's strange. I expected him to immediately shoot my offer of companionship down. Is Damon lonely?_

Clicking his tongue and pouring his lips thoughtfully, he finally breaks into his normal, cold grin.

_"Sure,"_ he says, sardonically, as if he's doing me a favor by agreeing. "Basically, I'm back in town to see my little brother since I promised to make him miserable for forever."

Oh, wow. Now, _that's_ familial trauma.

"Oh," I say unconsciously, somewhat surprised he's even telling me that much, but all the more eager for it. "That's intense. I bet that must've hurt a lot coming from your brother. Does it make you angry often? Oh, and what's the ex's name? For future reference."

Damon scoffs, sneering at me, "Really, Doc? You're asking me the 'how does that make you _feel?'_ question? Didn't expect you to be a cliche."

Smiling pleasantly up at his snark, I eye him seriously as I tuck a strand of hair out of my face with a pencil; I grab my notepad on my desk as I say, "As crazy as it sounds, a career based on helping people understand their feelings and expressing them in a healthy way requires you to ask how the person is feeling at the start. You need to know where you begin to discover where you end."

"I don't need you to shrink me," Damon snaps, blue eyes taking on a glacial temperature.

Setting my notebook down, I cross my legs and give Damon the most blasé expression I can muster, not believing _anything_ he just said.

"Damon, if you know I'm a Hawthorne, you definitely know where I live. You didn't have to come to my job before working hours, when I'm at my least busy in the office, but you did. And that tells me that even if you _do _want my help with something else, you also want my help as a therapist. So, let's cut the shit, and just explain."

I'm going to guess that he thought I meant explain why he's in Mystic Falls, because he started going on and on about a vampire named Katherine back in 1864...

—

And that's how we wound up here.

"Well, that in particular has to do with my plans for Elena Gilbert. I need you to get me into tonight's Founder's Party," he says nonchalantly, and my eyes sharpen, not liking his tone in reference to the girl.

"Why the hell would I do that, Damon? And, why have you told me _any _of this? The tomb, Katherine, whatever the _hell_ clone thing is going on with Elena; which, _by the way,_ that's pretty wild, and definitely not a good idea to stay around for your heart's sake if Katherine is stuck down there. Point is, now that you've told me, I could stop you if I wanted to," I say firmly, not liking where this conversation was turning.

Damon scoffs, smirk dark and wolfish on me like he enjoys my discomfort.

"Oh, well, that's easy, _Rhiannon,_" He says with a pleasant laugh dripping in malevolent undertones, "Because I happened to be walking out by Old Pine yesterday afternoon, you know, that old tree that people tell ghost stories about. And you wouldn't _believe _what I saw."

I blink once, then twice, an involuntary chill running down my spine at his words.

He _saw _me.

Well, fuck. That'll do it. I'd have to help _and_ keep my mouth shut.

"Imagine my surprise," Damon mocks, hand on his jaw as if he's pondering something difficult, "When I see a delightful little therapist burying a _corpse_ there."

Closing my eyes with a bit of a sigh and picturing the lifeless eyes of the man I found stalking around the outside of the house, I look back up at Damon's smug icy blues, not enjoying the fact that I am being manipulated at ail. And the fact that this situation is definitely for the long-term is vastly annoying. However, the merits outweigh the disadvantages.

Not only would I have much closer of an operating table when it came to Damon Salvatore, which I do still think he's choosing me unconsciously because he needs someone to talk to, the guy was a bit of a lone-wolf type. This is an excellent opportunity to use myself as an opportunity for Damon's growth, and honestly, that made it a tempting offer without the blackmail.

Problem was, I wasn't invited to the Founder's Party.

As much as the Council liked to pretend I was still a Hawthorne, they had never extended the invite after I was excommunicated. I'd have to pay a hefty price to get that invitation, and therein lies my biggest gripe. The Council would definitely strong-arm me into joining in exchange for going to that stupid party.

Begrudgingly, I'd have to take the blow to the ego.

Because the last thing I need is a bunch of civilians snooping into Old Pine and investigating me for my mini-vampire burial ground.

"Fine," I grit out after a moment, eyes narrowed on the ever so smug Damon Salvatore grinning at me like I'm a mouse he caught in his trap. I raise a brow, suddenly somewhat unimpressed at a revelation. "Do you not have anyone else who can take you to this? You're a handsome guy, so I'm pretty sure you don't need to try too hard to get a date; particularly, blackmailing."

Damon's smirk darkens growing more wicked by the second, and I feel like he's in my personal space when he leans forward, shifting his elbows onto his knees as he clasps his hands together, businesslike.

"Don't be so hard on yourself, Doc," he says nonchalantly with a shrug of his shoulders, "With how good your legs look in that skirt, I doubt I'm the first to go this far for Rhiannon Gallagher."

_And that's precisely what got me into this situation in the first place._

"Thank you, Damon," I reply tartly, sarcasm coming out so thick it tasted bitter, "I'm so glad that what you took from what I just said was that I'm attractive. Please, continue to objectify me; I'm really just a painting on display for you to look at and comment on whenever you please," dropping my professional look for a moment, I roll my eyes at how childish he can be.

Damon grins up at me, like he thinks I'm fun, but otherwise doesn't respond. Attempting to use the tension in the room against me to make me feel uncomfortable.

"Look, I have things I have to do today, people to call, and you've pretty much canceled my entire work day. If you need something else, say it," I firmly demand, irritated with all of this political talk around what he wanted.

Damon stands from the beanbag, towering over me as he leans into my desk; me looking up at him and altogether unmoved by the intimidation tactic. Those big blue eyes glint venomously, but Damon Salvatore is as pretty as a picture, and he's very aware of it.

"I'll pick you up at 7," he whispers playfully, vanishing in a gust of wind a moment after.

Groaning, I smack my forehead on my desk in exasperation; running my fingers through my shoulder-length brown hair as I try to remind myself that this is something that I need to do for Damon's sake. I sit up after a moment, glaring at my pink wall like it will be able to help my situation to no avail before finally snapping and grabbing my phone off of its receiver, dialing the number that I still had memorized after all these years.

"_Liz Forbes, Mystic Falls Sheriff's Office,_" the firm voice on the other end of the line greets formally, just as no-nonsense as ever.

"Liz, it's Rhiannon. I'm ready to accept your offer of joining the Council— but on one condition."

There's a brief pause, which I'm assuming is her surprise, but the sheriff quickly adjusts, clearing her throat before asking, _"And what would that be?"_

Humming into the phone slightly as I write on a sticky note a reminder to buy a dress for this stupid thing, letting her wait anxiously as I finish. Drawing lines for emphasis under the note, I finally answer, "The Council is not gaining access to my family's ancestral pieces. No journals, no guidebooks, no weapons, nothing. It was good ol' Reggie's last wishes," I add, wincing a bit at the mention of my father, but knowing it'd get her to not ask anymore questions.

"_Understood,"_ she replies sullenly, tone slightly bitter, and I hang up the phone without letting her get another word in, already guessing that there'd be a Council meeting at the party. It was weird talking to her now, someone who used to come tutor me for Algebra.

If only she hadn't grown up to become a vindictive, prejudiced woman with an axe to grind.

———

_Rhiannon's Home_

_6:45 P.M., September 24th, 2009_

———

Dabbing a bit more blush on my cheeks, I take a final look in the mirror at the finished, made-up visage.

My career was something I had dedicated my life to after leaving home, and I had the degree at my young age of twenty-six to show for it. As such, and considering the only friend I consider a friend in this town is my delightful elderly neighbor, Mrs. Cromwell, I didn't get out much. Ergo, I hadn't gotten pretty for anything in a minute.

It was a refreshing change, and nearly cathartic for me. Covering up the fine lines starting to appear on my face was a bit of a relief, the livening up of my hazel eyes with eyeliner and mascara had been something I found peace in, and I realized that this had really been a therapeutic experience for me.

I clearly hadn't been taking enough care of myself lately, and I rolled my eyes at the reminder of just how _busy _I'd been.

Dusting off the remaining powder on my cheeks, I do one more fluff up of my shoulder-length, blown-out brown hair, enjoying the volume she was giving me tonight, but not enjoying the why. Adjusting my breasts again in the uncomfortable bra I had to wear with this dress, I shrug in the white, backless, long-sleeve dress, not happy that I have to try this hard for the Lockwoods of all people.

I had finally wrapped my head firmly around the idea that I was well-stuck being blackmailed into silence by Damon. I wasn't lucky like he was, there was no compulsion to erase the evidence of my crimes. Not only would I be in prison, I'd be in there for a long fucking time, and the record I'd receive would firmly put me in danger if it fell into certain circles. I'd be a fish in a barrel.

Hearing the doorbell ring, I blink out of whatever daze I had been in while thinking of my imminent demise. I scoff and roll my eyes when I hear a yell from outside of, "Hurry up, gorgeous! We don't have all night!"

Quickly putting in my gold earrings, I throw on a couple of bracelets while also trying to throw on my heels, creating a teeter-totter effect that lands me square on my ass with one shoe on. Huffing, I blow a strand of my now mussed-up hair back off of my forehead, quickly standing and readjusting myself before straightening my shoulders back, pretending the collapse didn't happen as I strut through my cottage to my front door.

There, lo and behold, is Damon Salvatore in all his rebel-without-a-cause glory. He looks absolutely incredible in his suit, it bringing out the already-intense blue of his eyes against his raven hair and pale skin. The smell of expensive aftershave wafts to my nose pleasantly has he smirks wolfishly at me.

"_Hello, Nurse," _Damon greets in Animaniacs fashion, eyeing me up and down with an interested stare at my legs, which were bare just above the knees.

"I'm not a nurse, Damon," I say in a clipped tone, not wanting to argue the matter for his amusement when my mood was so poor, instead brushing past him to walk straight to his blue Camaro. _Of course he has a blue camaro, the obnoxious dou-_

"I'm not even a doctor. I'm a therapist. A therapist in a bitchy mood, so let's get you punishing your brother in public over with ASAP, so I can be angry in private," I snap, about to reach to open the passenger's side door when suddenly, there's a large hand in my way on the handle.

Damon has appeared in a gust of wind in front of me, all debonair good looks and a darkly amused expression twisted on his lovely face. He opens the door with a bow for flourish, and I scoff, moving to sit in the seat anyway. Damon whirls into a puff of air, appearing at the driver's side turning the key in the ignition, smiling at me as he shifts his car in gear.

"Aw, Doc, no need to hold back on my behalf. Be as angry as you want," he taunts.

"That's not my modus operandi, Damon, it's yours," I quip back, and Damon's brows furrow in curiosity at the comment.

"What's _that _supposed to mean?" He asks.

I smile warmly at him, fluttering my pretty hazel eyes as I finally announce, "Oh, easy. Since I'm held captive by the information you're dangling over my head, we get to suffer together. I'm going to be psychoanalyzing the hell out of you and announcing my deductions as I find them, your emotions be damned. And trust me when I say that therapists are _incredible _at pointing out the truth of pretty painful things."

Rolling his blue eyes, he doesn't reply to the threat, instead scoffing. But, I can see the screwed up look of pensive thought behind those pensive eyes, the comments on his desire to be judge, jury, and executioner for his Abel and his modus operandi of being angry at the world.

I would force Damon to make breakthroughs on his own during our time together as a sort of compensation for the bad things he was forcing me to do, because eventually, he'd be a better Damon for it.

_———_

_A/n: hey guys! Sorry for the late update, but I'm glad to hear you're liking the concept. Your comments are all so fun to read. I do not own Vampire Diaries, or anything else besides Rhiannon Gallagher._

_———_


	4. Four

"It takes great courage to see the world in all its tainted glory, and still to love it."  


—Oscar Wilde

**———**

**Chapter Four: **

_Damon Salvatore_

_7:36 P.M., September 24th, 2009_

_Founder's Party_

**———**

There are certain moments where you need to check in with yourself in this life.

Are you okay?

Are you happy with where you are right now?

What decisions lead you to this moment in your life?

And it's these sort of self-reflective questions that I ask myself as Damon leads me through the endless crowd of pastel greens and yellows. The spring colors blurring all together was nearly nauseating, but, I also felt like I should be wearing them as camouflage.

Maybe I should've picked a more 'spring' color to blend in a bit more— but, I was quickly realizing that with Damon as my date, I wouldn't be blending in, _whatsoever_.

Now, don't get me wrong— I'm aware that I'm an attractive woman— and that does garner _some_ attention on it's own.

But, the attention Damon Salvatore received just for breathing in the same vicinity as other women was overwhelming.

Damon walks with a sort of cocky surety that comes with being a very attractive man who can get most of what he wants without trying very hard— and thus, he came off as a sort of dark fantasy for a lot of women. He looked like the type of debonair man to sweep a married woman off her feet in an illicit affair.

And that's exactly what lead to me having daggers invisibly thrown into my back from some of the intense glares from the ladies.

Some of the kinder women just have a sort of placid smile on their face as they watch him, as if they are having their own little daydream of him as they stand beside their husbands.

Long story short, the high society of Mystic Falls is a den of snakes.

I know I'm tense even being here, spotting several faces that I wasn't friendly with— who would _also_ be in the meeting later— but, I don't notice my grip tightening on his suit sleeve until Damon mentions it.

"You okay there, Doc? Looking a little pale," he asks sardonically, and I can tell he doesn't actually care.

Almost like this is just making conversation to him.

"Don't ask questions you don't want the answers to," I quip back, plastering a polite smile on my face when we finally make it to the front of the line to greet Mayor Lockwood and his trophy wife.

_Ah, lovely. They're as fake as ever._

Carol smiles at me warmly, but her blue eyes are like ice chips until she turns to Damon, her smile taking on a new heat.

Mayor Lockwood's grin is as political and smarmy as ever, and I'm once again reminded of everything I despise about politics as he extends his hand out in greeting to Damon, shaking a bit too firmly. He turns his brown eyes towards me, and I see the still-gross glint of lust there.

_Very classy, as always._

"Hello, Rhiannon," Carol greets semi-sweetly, an undercurrent of disgust in her tone. "And who's this?"

"Hello, Carol," I greet back icily, not bothering with the facade that we actually liked each other.

Gesturing to the vampire on my arm, I introduce Damon to both Mayor Lockwood and wife, not very invested in the small talk of it all. Damon doesn't seem to be either, despite Carol's attempt to pull him into the conversation. Multiple times.

Finally, the pleasantries are finished, and we're free to continue walking into the party.

"They were _friendly__,"_ Damon acknowledges with a raise of his dark brows as we continue to weave through the other couples here.

"That's not a very good word for it," is all I reply, Damon suddenly tugging with purpose towards our left.

Parting our way through the crowd, he guides us over to the artifacts on display for the Founder's Council. And that's when I spot Elena Gilbert, the girl who has been avoiding my office all month.

She wears an adorable orange and pink mini-dress, the pretty young woman looking at the strapping young man at her side in front of the historical display.

A part of me eases at the thought that she might actually be doing a lot better than I last saw her. But, the other part of me is suspicious if she's this 'happy' because she's throwing all of her grief _into_ this relationship. Her large, dark eyes do seem kind of off, however— _confusion__? _

_"—_And _Stefan Salvatore?"_ I catch Elena asking with my very human hearing, and Damon is already grinning: a clear sign he's been listening the entire time.

"The original Salvatore brothers," The cocky older brother greets, "Our ancestors. Tragic story, actually."

Stefan Salvatore is a handsome man, but I could definitely see his age in his forest green eyes. The firm line between his furrowed brows was well-worn, as if this brooding, vaguely upset face was his typical one he wore day to day.

_Sad. Hurt. Angry._

The second Stefan's green eyes meet Damon's, I can see the thick tension between the two. There's obvious dislike in both of their gazes, and definitely moreso from my date, himself. Damon might have grinning, but the frigid cold glare in his pretty blues was unmistakable to my trained eye. Elena was the only one who seemed ignorant— or at least, the one who seemed to not be aware of the intensity of this nonverbal greeting.

_This is going to be **very** dramatic._

Elena's doe brown eyes narrow on my and Damon's linked arms, and I quickly throw a warm smile both of their way— even though Stefan didn't see it since he was two busy glaring at his brother.

"We don't need to bore Elena and your friend with stories of the past," Stefan replies back firmly, setting a boundary for Damon.

Unfortunately for him, Damon is not the type to respect boundaries.

He is the type to get angry when he sees a boundary and stomp on it, just to spite whoever drew the line in the first place.

"It's not boring, Stefan. I'd love to hear more about your family," Elena chides in a light tone, effectively breaking the slight awkwardness. She turns to me with a warm smile, "Hi, Ms. Gallagher."

I smile back and wave at her as the boys make ugly eyes at each other, and I can tell the young girl is clearly bothered by Stefan's dismissiveness.

_Stefan's secretive. Elena is honest, and expects the same in return. **Yikes.**_

There's a sudden grip on my elbow that tightens twice, and I have to force myself not to turn to look at Damon, confused.

What the hell was _I_ supposed to be doing right now?

While I'm working hard trying to decipher Damon's terrible nonverbal communication skills, Elena has artfully turned the conversation to me.

"Stefan, this is Ms. Gallagher, our town's resident therapist. Ms, Gallagher, this is my boyfriend, Stefan."

Extending my hand, I note the nervous look in Stefan's eyes when she clarifies that she knows me, frowning slightly.

He wasn't going to help me.

Obviously, I wasn't an innocent bystander here, but that was enough of an indicator as to how Stefan felt about Damon.

Either, Stefan didn't want to hurt Damon, or he didn't want to hurt his chances with Elena— and he's oddly enough _doing_ both. Stefan was effectively making Elena suspicious of him because he didn't talk about himself much, while also hurting Damon by parading around with their ex-girlfriend's copy on his arm.

_Doesn't think things through. __Everything he does he thinks is for the benefit of everyone else. Let's Damon off the hook too much. __Believes he's the moral superior to his brother._

Well, Elena's not gonna be able to tolerate that.

His hand grips mine firmly, cool to the touch, same as other vampires. Stefan gives me an awkward smile, and I take this as my opportunity to make it clear to Stefan what I do, and why I'm here.

"Hi," I greet with a warm smile, but my hazel gaze is leveled on him firmly. "I do a lot of assemblies at the high school, so we would've met sooner or later. Typically, since the school doesn't have an official counselor, they have me come down to assess new students. I can't believe you haven't been in my office yet."

There's a sudden nervousness in Stefan's eyes, and I feel a bit bad for giving him a hard time, but it's just business. Stefan looked like a stubborn man in a lot of pain— if I had to break a few eggs to make him a happy omelet, then fine.

_Wait. Am I just using fixing these vampires as an attempt to fill the void left by how much I dislike myself?_

Huh.

Elena's brown orbs are narrowed and suspicious, clearly wondering how Stefan could've wiggles his way out of that one. She's probably thinking of when at the start of Freshman year, she couldn't get me off her case about our initial visit.

Seriously. It resorted to me having to leave a note "Deep Throat"-style taped to Miranda's windshield to let her know that I needed to see her daughter.

"Oh," Stefan chuckles awkwardly, not enjoying the spotlight at all, "Well, they didn't mention it during my orientation. I'll be sure to stop by your office after school tomorrow."

I nod, not entirely convinced, but it would be real easy for me to contact Elena if he didn't show. Stefan had to know he was boxed in.

There's another pointed look from Damon, and I honestly was starting to get frustrated before I finally realized what he wanted. Elena's suspicious. Damon wants to ruin Stefan's love life by getting rid of Elena. Therefore...

"Actually, Stefan," I quickly cut in before there can be a topic change, "Would you mind if we had a bit of an unofficial check-in now? Just so I can write a note to excuse your late welfare check?"

Stefan's eyes are untrusting, but I can see the gears turning.

_Intelligent. Somewhat conscientious for those he cares for. Nervous about talking to a therapist._

The ones who needed the most help usually were.

Finally, Stefan cracks with a tight smile to a now, much warmer Elena smiling up at him. She looked proud of him for some reason. Perhaps she's more aware of his trauma than I am.

Doesn't mean she's getting out of the hot seat though.

Stefan offers his arm for me, and as I trade off brothers, I share a rather intense look with Damon. His blue eyes are bright, but analytical— and oh so violent. These eyes promise that if I say _anything _Damon doesn't like whilst with Stefan, I would pay dearly for it. Oddly enough, it makes the ends of my lips curl up.

This is a man desperate for some loyalty.

Luckily for him, that was one of the few good qualities I possessed. Damon might be a bit emotionless now, most likely having flipped his switch, but I was seeing sparks of it.

He was close to making a big breakthrough, I just needed to ride out the shitty bit first.

That's my last thought on the subject of Damon, as Elena gives us both a happy wave off while I abscond with her vampire boyfriend.

_———_

_Stefan Salvatore _

_7:55 PM, September 24th, 2009_

_Founder's Party_

_———_

I and Stefan find an empty table in the backyard, evening beginning to cool the earth to my favorite temperatures.

Taking my seat, I give him a soft smile as he looks at me with big, guilty green eyes.

"It's hard, isn't it?" I ask soothingly, and his green eyes blink in a bit of shock.

"What do you mean?" Stefan shoots back, thick brows drawn in confusion as to what I was doing.

Folding my hands, I lean forward a bit before replying, "Damon. It's hard to deal with his erratic behavior, right?"

Blinking, Stefan seems shocked as to where I've taken the conversation. He probably thought that he'd be the one interrogating me out here, but my inner-digger will not be satisfied by half-assing. After a couple more moments of silence, the noble-looking Stefan licks his lips before giving a slight nod.

"Sometimes," he acquiesces, "But, he's my brother. All siblings fight from time to time."

"Oh, don't play like that, Stefan," I firmly correct, knowing that I don't have a ton of time to mince words while Damon emotionally manipulates the poor human teenager inside. "'All siblings' don't date the same girl at the same time. 'All siblings' don't live with that kind of relationship strain for over a century."

Green eyes fly open briefly, before closing tightly and snapping back to me with sad, guilty eyes.

"I don't know what Damon's made you believe, but you're being _used,_ Ms. Gallagher."

I tilt my head to the side, curious to hear what Stefan had to say from his perspective.

"Stefan, trust me, it's mutual using," I start, to put him at ease with me. I could take care of Damon myself, and from how guilty he looked, I doubted he had the strength to fight Damon.

"And, it's not my job to take sides, Stefan. Obviously, I get it if you think I'm a human meat puppet for your brother— and don't get me wrong— he _tried._ However, I'm an open, non-judgmental sounding board for anything you want to talk about. Doesn't have to be about Elena, or Damon, for that matter. You could just tell me what you ate for breakfast today."

Stefan looks not only confused, but insanely suspicious.

"And why would you do that?" He asks, and I'm hit hard by how absolutely genuine he sounds. It's like Stefan doesn't think he deserves to be heard— let alone, saved.

Leaning forward, I place a comforting hand on Stefan's and pat it professionally, but consolingly.

"You know what makes me a really good therapist?" I rhetorically question with a raise of my brow. Letting it sit for a moment, I realize that Stefan's not going to guess— because he's _not _seventeen.

Some of the mannerisms might be there, but this was a grown man. I was babying him a bit too much because of how young he looked.

Pulling my hand back, I finish with a sigh, "Because I'm _really _good at sniffing out broken people. People who don't think they're worth anything. And then? I help them fix their problems."

There's a brief pause, a harsh look from Stefan piercing me like a blade as he tries to see if I'm being honest or if I'm hypnotized. I stare back, unflinching, letting him see whatever he wants to see in me.

Suddenly, he sits up, offering his arm to me once again.

"We should probably head back. You know how Damon can be," Stefan sighs resolutely, and I quickly retract my interrogation and allow for a comfortable space for him.

If he wasn't ready, he wasn't ready.

Meekly sliding my arm into his, I sigh, a bit downcast from being shut down _that _hard— when I hear Stefan mumble something lowly to me as we start to walk.

"Pancakes and animal blood."

I smile.

———

**A/n: Hey guys, long time no see lol. Sorry for the late update, but the world's crazy right now. I hope this gives you guys some distraction from all of the messy stuff outside.**

**Thanks for all the reviews, favorites, and follows, guys.**

**I promise I treasure every single one.**

**———**


	5. Five

"Tell me, father, which to pray forgiveness for: what I am, or what I'm not? Tell me, mother, which should I regret: what I became, or what I didn't?"

— Unknown, Thoughts of a Stray

——————

**Chapter Five:**

_Damon Salvatore _

_3:45 P.M._

_September 28th, 2009_

_Rhiannon's Office_

——————

Hefting the large box of files onto my office floor that I had just imported into my new electronic filing system, I huff a loose brown strand of hair out of my face, attempting to **_not_** worry for the umpteenth time today.

Damon had disappeared after the night of the party.

Stefan had been all eager eyes and smiles after my Council meeting, telling me how Damon had to leave for a family emergency but it hadn't set me at ease. A firm, sour feeling had settled into the pit of my stomach at his words, automatically knowing in my gut that he was being dishonest.

Six missed calls and four texts to the blue eyed vampire later, that feeling hadn't left.

Stefan had _done_ something to Damon— and although it wasn't my place to decide whether or not someone deserved to live or die, I couldn't help but feel a bit guilty about not checking in on my patient. And so, I was beside myself on whether or not to start digging for more information.

At least if I found out he died, the pangs of guilt and concern for my very distressed patient would somewhat settle into my little box of issues I hide in the corner of my brain.

The pill wouldn't be easy to swallow, but at least I'd know if he was at peace or still alive.

Speaking of bitter pills, the Council meeting had been alarming to say the least. Talks of a device that could solve the 'vampire crisis' were enough to set me on edge— especially considering the recent additions to my treatment center.

_Problems just seem to be popping up left and right for me, _I sigh mentally, thinking back on the late night 'gardening' I ended up having to take care of.

_Too much compost, not enough lawn._

A knock on the door disrupts my zone-out, my brows automatically furrowing. I had no more appointments for the rest of the day, and I had specifically planned for it to be that way just in case I felt like I needed to go investigate Damon Salvatore's whereabouts.

My eyes narrow, hands swiping the small dagger from my desk for the first time since Damon had last visited and slowly approaching the door.

Peeking through the blinds besides the door, I'm surprised to see the familiar blonde head of Caroline Forbes.

I quickly unlock the door, but my polite smile drops when I see the glazed over look in her blue eyes. Her pretty face is completely blank and it feels like she doesn't reallysee me.

_Slack shoulders, dead stare, general lack of expression. _

Shock? Trauma? Did Caroline see something traumatic?

"Caroline, are you okay?" I ask earnestly, scanning her face for any sign of recognition or alertness.

Her gaze remained glassy as she flatly replied, "Damon needs us."

_Damon needs us._

_._

_._

_._

Son of a bitch, she's compelled.

This was clearly an SOS. Wherever Damon was, he was still alive, and not strong enough to escape. I take a deep inhale.

"Okay. Caroline, can you take me to him?"

——————

_Salvatore Boarding House _

——————

I hadn't been to the Salvatore boarding house before, but the place lived up to it's reputation.

Lonely, masculine, and somewhat domineering in its ambience— a not-so-obvious hallmark of the long line of Salvatore men, in general.

The last time I had seen Zach Salvatore was at our high school graduation, but he had been a quiet teen boy. It had been a pretty big surprise to everyone when he was announced as our year's salutatorian because no one really knew much _about _him. He didn't go to football games, instead choosing to hover around the school garden, and I had seen him a number of times smoking a joint there. It seemed he had maintained that isolation well into adulthood, not even attending council meetings— instead, he just gave them their vervain and went on about his day.

I wondered briefly if he'd remember me as I walked up to the front door, Caroline Forbes buckled and locked up snugly in my silver Honda Accord.

_Most likely not._

Knocking primly, I hear a bit of a clatter before there's a click, the door swinging open to reveal an aged Zach Salvatore. His eyes fly open widely at my face, flushing darkly before glancing down at his shirt nervously. My eyes following, I see the large, fresh coffee stain that seems to be his cause of distress, his gaze snapping up to meet mine once again before tucking himself slightly behind the door.

"R_-_Rhiannon_ Gallagher? _What are you doing here?" Zach stuttered nervously, eyes running rampant trails all over my face as if trying to record any and all changes to memory.

I smile warmly at him in greeting, but I'm a bit disheartened that I caused the man such distress with my sudden presence.

_PTSD symptoms? General shyness? Perhaps agoraphobia?_

"Hi, Zach," I greet, him smiling back in turn almost immediately, "Liz told me to run by here and grab some herbs?"

Zach catches the hint immediately, brows furrowing in confusion.

"You joined."

"You're surprised?" I ask, curious about how much of my situation he had been made aware of.

"Isn't everyone? I'm not very involved and even I thought you hated everything the Council stood for."

A wry grin twists the corners of my mouth, an attempt to smother the small amount of annoyance I feel at being interrogated by someone I hardly know.

"I don't hate _everything_ they stand for," I lie, tucking a stray brown strand out of my face when a small breeze carries through the forested area, "I hate how they handle their problems. It's a lot easier to fix that from the interior— don't you think?"

Strands of hair blow across my face as I smile continue my friendly smile, and he can't stop himself from smiling back, taking the bait.

"Good point," Zach hums before blinking as if he remembered something.

Chuckling, he steps to the side, offering to let me in before his eyes narrow on something behind me. Blinking, I turn only to see Caroline Forbes now behind me, blank eyes staring through Zach into the house.

_Had he not noticed she was with me?_

"Oh, hey, Caroline. What are you doing here?" He asks.

_Oh, no-_

Caroline's mouth opens robotically, "Damon needs help."

Spotting Zach's form stiffen at Caroline's words, I quickly move before he can slam his door shut, planting my foot in place to hold the door open as my elbow jams into his nose. He instantly falls backwards away from the door, allowing me to shove it open and drag Caroline in with me. The Salvatore begins to stir, groaning as he cradles his now bloody septum.

"Caroline, close the door," I huff, shrugging off my overcoat as she turns to me.

"But, I have to help Damon."

"I promise we will in a moment."

That's when Zach attempts to leap from the ground, my boot simultaneously swiping his chin before he falls back to the floor, either dead or unconscious.

_Unfortunate._

——————

"Damon? Are you down here?" I ask down into the dark basement, not really wanting to have to go down and actually look.

_I bet there's spiders crawling all over this place._

There's a sudden noise from downstairs, and my eyes widen when I hear a strained voice ask from far within, "Doc? That you?"

Brushing my petty fears aside, I scale down the staircase, spiders be damned. There is so much dust down here that it makes the air taste old, mounds piled atop old antiques and cardboard boxes leading down the hallway. I up my walk to a jog when I hear Damon start wheezing, freezing in front of a large wooden door with a small, barred window. Peeking within reveals what I'd feared.

Damon is as white as a ghost, sweat pouring down his forehead as his eyes fade in and out of focus, suddenly sharpening when he zones in on me.

"Never thought I'd say this, but thank _god_ for therapists," he grunts weakly with an attempt at a cocky grin.

My eyes instantly roll at his mouthing off during a life or death situation.

"Where do you keep your blood, Damon?" I ask firmly, glancing around for any sign of a cooler.

"What do you mean?" He asks incredulously, stumbling over to meet my eyes through the small door window, "Let me out _now, _Doc."

My brow arches, hands firmly landing on my hips.

"Do I _look_ like a juice box to you?" I ask seriously.

"No, that's why I invited Caroline."

Levelling him with a look, I clearly state, "I'm not letting you snack on the teenager. Now, where's your stock?"

Damon groans pitifully, looking up to the heavens for patience, I'm guessing.

"It tastes _gross_ cold," he huffs deliriously, and I cannot believe how much of a child he's being while on his death bed.

"Quit pouting and tell me where the damn blood is before Stefan gets back!" I snap.

Damon's dark eyebrows suddenly raise, blue eyes amused at my outburst.

"Ooh, _fiesty_," the vampire teases, and I start entertaining the idea of just leaving him here.

Damon scoffs at me after a beat of silence.

"Fine. It's underneath that tarp behind you."

As irritating as he was, there was a certain grain of gratefulness in his haughty tone- and for that reason and that reason only, I reached to pull off the tarp from the cooler.

"We're _definitely_ doing a trauma worksheet in exchange for this."

——————

Quiet car rides typically fall into two categories: comfortable and uncomfortable.

This would qualify as an uncomfortable quiet car ride.

Caroline's adorable blonde head continues to bob obliviously content in the backseat, her compulsion giving her brain a dopamine reward for accomplishing said compulsive task. The late afternoon sunshine streaming in on her sunny face as she slowly came back to awareness.

I now had to come up with a good excuse for why exactly I was dropping off the Sheriff's daughter so late in the afternoon after a car wash.

Damon had been more than upset about his situation after his breakout snack, him repeatedly snapping his already-dead nephew's neck out of pettiness before realizing he couldn't leave the house. Stefan, the ever-effective kidnapper, had been smart enough to snatch his big brother's daylight ring, and Damon was just not a happy camper after that.

It made for an easy exit when he had to make a couple of angry phone calls, quickly compelling Caroline to believe whatever story I told her to tell her mother so we would both get out of his way.

Now, it was all up to my creative thinking for an excuse.

Unfortunately for Damon, I was _also_ none too pleased with how the day had gone, and I definitely wasn't planning on making it any easier for him. Therapist I may be, but I exercise the right to be petty once in a while when the occasion calls for it.

Closing my center for the second time in his row of visitations definitely called for it.

I tapped along to the radio as I turned another street closer to Liz's house, running down my current list of options_. _After all, someone needed an excuse as to why her daughter was running around town instead of helping at the car wash_._

_Damon offered to give her dancing lessons for the upcoming Miss Mystic Falls Pageant? _

No, too simple. Easy to poke holes through.

_Damon offered to pay her sponsorship for the pageant and we were all having a meeting to discuss how to balance her school work and pageantry training in a healthy way?_

Now, _that_ could absolutely work.

——————

_September 29th, 2009 _

_The Office_

_8:45 A.M._

——————

Humming as I finished stuffing my first appointment's paperwork back into her file, I bounce slightly on my exercise ball as I wait. I had tried calling Damon to see if he was alright, but once again, no dice.

Instead, I got a lovely little text that said 'butt out' and that was the final word on the elder Salvatore.

_Oh well, he can just be surprised when Liz asks him about dressing gowns for her daughter, then._

There were other more pressing matters at hand anyway. I had two more appointments for the day, and absolutely nothing to fill the rest of the work day with. Organizing, cleaning, and paperwork had been all finished and caught up on since I had extra cancelled work days to pursue it, and now I had nothing to do besides bounce on my exercise ball and think.

It was looking to be another boring day at the office for me... or at least it had.

Dana's small, heart-shaped face popped around from the corner of my open office door, a prim knock announcing her arrival. At my questioning glance, she quickly hopped to it, her eyes dodging right briefly before entering the room with her guests.

_Someone's here and they aren't supposed to be._

I almost reach for my dagger out of habit at this point, until I see the familiar worried green gaze of Stefan Salvatore breech my doorstep. _A pleasant surprise for once, yay! _I'm even more surprised when he pulls behind him a disheveled wide-eyed Elena Gilbert.

Dana quickly excuses herself before I can say a word, returning happily back to her desk upfront and leaving me with the vampire-human couple.

Blinking before standing from my ball and smoothing my skirt, I glance between the two anxious-looking lovers, leaning back against the hardwood railing of my desk.

"Well, this is a surprise. Can I help you two with something?" I ask, narrowing my eyes slightly when Elena can't meet my gaze.

And then, Stefan says the one thing I didn't expect to hear today.

"We need couple's therapy."

**——————**

**_A/n: Hope you all enjoy the latest chapter, and I'm sorry for it taking so long to update. 2020 is tough for me, y'all. I hope this gives you a little bit of release from the day to day even though it's a shorter chapter._**

**_Take care of yourselves!_**

**_——————_**


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